Cosmolocalypse
by Li Johnson
Summary: Metalocalypse. Ofdensen hires the band a new stylist, but how will her presence effect the members of Dethklok? Rated M for sex, drugs, and rock and roll! and pervasive language. more of ch.5 added!
1. New Stylist

(side note: there is a list of songs that i thought pertained to certain chapters, and they will be listed in order of appearance at the beginning of each chapter. There are none for the first chapter, but you will see them beginning with ch. 2. please R&R, and enjoy!)

* * *

"Good morning guys," Charlie Ofdensen, world-popular death-metal band Dethklok's manager and lawyer addressed his clients as he entered the meeting room. He often dreaded speaking seriously to these so-called "gods of death metal" – getting them to listen and make smart decisions was like pulling teeth out of a tigress on the rag. But it had to be done nonetheless, despite the guys' random comments and damn-near stupidity. They had to be warned and advised about their decisions somehow. Unfortunately for Ofdensen, it was his job.

"Good mooorning, dude!" said Pickles, Dethklok's drummer. "Come on in here! Teak a seet!"

Nathan, the band's frontman, and Skwisgaar, the lead guitarist, bit their tongues and tried not to smile, while Toki, the rhythm guitarist and Murderface, the bassist tried to contain snickers.

"What's so funny?"asked Ofdensen.

"Uh . . . nothing," said Nathan, his voice like a car pulling up a gravel driveway.

"Nothing! We're just scho happy to schee your beautiful face thisch morning!" said Murderface.

Snickers and giggles commenced from the band.

Oh God, here we go, thought Ofdensen. "Ok . . .well anyways-"

"Well doon't just stand there! Come on, teak a load off!"

Toki's head hit the table and he dissolved into heaving laughter – he had trouble containing his feelings after consuming large amounts of alcohol or candy, or in this morning's case, both.

"You . . . you want me to sit down . . .?"

"Zis isn'ts U.S. Congress! Its justs us guys!" said Skwisgaar, flipping back his long, Swedish blonde hair.

Ofdensen was cautious – the band was known for their love of pranks. "I have some-"

"Dammit, just sit down!" rumbled Nathan. "We're trying to be gentlemen here."

"Well," Ofdensen rolled his eyes, exasperated. "If you insist."

As soon as Ofdensen pulled the chair back the smell hit him like a Mack truck. A pile of fresh vomit waited for him in the chair.

Once they realized that the emotionless look on Ofdensen's face was his reaction, the band burst into hysterics. The sound of knees being slapped, snorts, and madness filled the room, along with the scent of half-digested Swedish vodka and Reese's Pieces.

"Sweet Jesus," sighed Ofdensen, "whose is this?"

"Meeee . . . .!" giggled Toki, his long, light brown hair hanging over his pale blue eyes, bloodshot from being intoxicated. "I so sorries! Wake up call for yous!"

Ofdensen rubbed his temples. _Lord, give me strength,_ he prayed silently. "Can I please get down to business?"

"We never saids you couldn't!" said Skwisgaar.

"Yeah dude! Sit oover there." Pickles gestured to an empty seat at the other end of the table, next to Toki.

"Alright."

Ofdensen made his way over to the vomit-free chair, but was further annoyed when Toki bowed his head and puked again into that very chair. "Shouldn't you go to the restroom? Seriously."

"I sorries!" Toki slumped down in his chair. "I feels much better now."

"Good," said Ofdensen pleasantly as he made his way to opposite side of the table and sat into a clean chair. "I have some rather distressing news about your stylist, Tessa Emondo."

"Who?" Nathan asked.

"Tessa Emondo, your stylist."

"Define 'stylist'."

"I think he meansh . . .you remember that girl who doesh our hair-schlash-make-up before each schow? I think he meansh her," said Murderface. "That'sh who you mean, right?"

"Yes, your hairstylist." confirmed Ofdensen.

"I still don't . . ."Nathan sighed. "Whatever. Go on."

"Well it appears that she's in the hospital due to a near-drug overdose."

"Noo way!" exclaimed Pickles. "What heppened?"

"Well, she was found backstage at your last concert, collapsed on the floor with a needle in her arm. Apparently, it was heroin . . . you guys didn't notice?"

"The girl on the floor with the needle in her - nope, didn't see her," scoffed Nathan.

"Oh, zat girl! My God, we thought she was sleepings!" said Skwisgaar.

"Yeah! Juscht . . . taking a catnap or schomething!" said Murderface.

"Dude, I take naps all the time when I do shit like that. It's one of my feevorite parts of getting high 'cause sometimes I have all these fucked-up dreams about ponies made of telephones and cars with live hornets for windshields," said Pickles.

"But how coulds you sees through the hornets? And wouldn'ts they stings you?" asked Toki in his post-puke stupor.

"No dude, I had like, X-ray vision or something. In my dream I could see right through them, and I needed to; I mean come on, I was on my wey to the corner store fer munchies and Diet Cooke. And they had little tiny flowers where their stingers would be, and you knoow how most bees are attracted to flowers, right? Soo they were just kind of going around in circles smelling their own asses. It was too magical for words," explained Pickles.

"Anyway, after Tessa gets out of the hospital she'll be in the rehab center there for quite some time," continued Ofdensen.

"But . . ." began Skwisgaar, pausing to reminisce about the crazy, off-the-wall sex that he and Tessa used to partake in. But it didn't matter too much to him – another day, another time, another whore. "Who's going to dos our hairs and make-ups and stuffs like dat?"

"That's what this meeting is about," said Ofdensen. "I hired a new stylist for you guys. She's the top alternative stylist and make-up artist on the Eastern seaboard of the United States, and her resume states that she, quote-on-quote, 'does a damn good manicure'. She's a very sweet girl, I think you'll like her."

"Is she hot?" asked Nathan. "Was _that _on her resume?"

"Yeah, ish sche pretty? 'Cause, I think I schpeak for all of ush here that we really don't want schome . . . fugly . . . dirtbag doing or hair and schit like that," Murderface pointed out.

"Yeah, noo fugly dertbags, please," said Pickles.

"Please no fugly dirtsbags!" said Skiwsgaar.

"Please no fugly dirtsbags!" said Toki.

"I just saids dat," said Skwisgaar, narrowing his eyes.

"I just saids dat!" echoed Toki.

"You're a dildo, you knows dat?"

"You're a dildo, you fucking knows dat?"

"You're not even copyings me right!"

"You're not even copyings me . . . uh . . ."

"Shut up!"

"Shut . . . shut up! Just shuts up everyone!"

The band and their manager/lawyer stared as their band mate flew into a screaming rampage. "Shut up! SHUTS UP!! Everyone's TOO LOUD!! SHUTS IT!!"

"What's his problem?" asked Nathan in amazement.

"Dude, he muscht have scho mucsh rage built up from ush riding hish assch all the time, and he mucsht be letting it all out right now! That's the only explanaschtion!"

Ofdensen thought it best to just continue, as Toki's screams and shrieks had dulled to just mindless babbling. "Anyhow, the stylist . . . she's definitely not a . . . 'fugly dirtbag' . . . she's quite lovely actually, a very pleasant person."

"Well lets asks you dis – would you taps that?" sneered Skwisgaar.

"Yeah, Mr. Manager Guy? Would you tear up the scheets with her?" asked Murderface.

" . . . I won't comment on that."

"Come on, Charlie! _We trusts your opinion_," whispered Toki.

"Well . . . in all honesty . . ."he began. The band was awaiting his answer, and he knew it. Time to fuck with them.

". . . In all honesty her name is Taylor Ravens and she's arriving here in about an hour."

Ofdensen gathered the feeling of victory and stood up from the table. All members of the band stared slack-jawed at the fact that they were just bamboozled by their straight-laced manager/lawyer, except for Toki, who was smiling at a little spider on the ceiling. "Just . . . make her feel at home. You guys usually do . . . for the most part . . . I guess." He swiftly left the room to do his victory dance out in the hall.

"Guys," said Pickles, "were we just . . . oowned?"


	2. Taylor Ravens

Songs: _Mary Jane's Last Dance _by Tom Petty

* * *

The train was a little smelly, Taylor Ravens decided. It had the faint scent of Wheaties, mildew, and booze. She fished out her cigarettes from her purse and lit up, hoping that the rich, familiar smell of her Camel No. 9's would kind of block out the stench.

_Here I am: another job, another clientele, _she thought. She was excited, and scared shitless at the same time; this was the ultimate opportunity, and she took it. Ever since Taylor was in beauty school, she dreamed of doing hair for the rich and famous, and the metal band Dethklok was one of the supremes of that very elite group. She had heard stories about their "pain waivers" where fans would basically sign their lives away just to be at one of their concerts.

_Talk about a maniacal fan base, _she thought.

She had heard some of their songs, read and seen some of their interviews. They were very impressive, no doubt about that. Impressive, and talented – she had to admit that their basic theme song made her want to kill something, whether it be her hot dog, her voice message ringtone or that little old lady crossing the street. It made her want to be violent and creative, even though she was normally placid (but by no means boring). And to meet the five guys whose music made her feel this way was like an artist meeting the muse he had drawn pictures of all his life but has never actually seen.

It would be a wild and crazy adventure for her – and hopefully for the band members as well. Taylor's laid-back personality attracted many friends, most of whom deemed her to be a sweet combination of sassy, intelligent, and comical. She would verbally (or in some cases, physically) kick your ass, and then she would sit there and explain to you why she kicked your ass and made you cry. If she liked you, she would bake or knit you something. Her nickname in the eating disorder clinic she attended at 17 was "F.O.O.F", meaning "Fingers of Outrageous Fury", because of the vigorous way that she knitted scarves for her friends at the clinic and back home. Hailing from the Tonawanda/Riverside area of Buffalo, NY Taylor began her cosmetology career at age 20 at a semi-high-end salon in the artsy district on Elmwood Ave. As her experience grew, so did her talent, and soon she was giving seminars on alternative hairstyles and techniques – not just in Buffalo, but all over the Eastern Seaboard, including New York City, Philadelphia, Atlanta, and Miami. The way she figured, she made a huge leap over giving seminars on the West Coast by going straight to Mordhaus. Perhaps now at 28 she could consider applying for early retirement. But no, she couldn't – she loved cosmetology too much. Maybe in her 40's or 50's she would consider it, but not now. Now was just the beginning of something that she would be telling her children and grandchildren about, if she ever decided to get knocked up for any reason whatsoever.

The train was getting closer to Mordhaus – she had another 20 minutes before the train would arrive. She decided to do a little primping while she waited. _Might as well look nice, these guys are going to be my employers for a while, _she thought. She took out her compact and took a look; A pair of large, glittering gray-blue eyes looked back at her, set in a oval face with a dignified, pierced nose and a pair of cushy lips. She never liked to load on the make-up, just some signature black eyeliner, perhaps some lipgloss if needed. Her hair stopped at the middle of her back and was ash blonde with dark brown panels running through it, with choppy layers on top but long and stick-straight at the bottom. It was the latest trend in alternative haircuts, and she rocked it with everything she had. Her hair, along with her black skinny jeans, gray t-shirt and black slide on Converse sneakers, offered her the confidence that she would impress these death metal rockers and show them that she was worthy of the job.

"Mordhaus next, now approaching Mordhaus," said the demonic-sounding loudspeaker on the train. "This is the last stop, the end of the line. You might . . . just . . . DIIIIIIIIEEEEEE!!"

Taylor rolled her eyes – _that_ was a little overdone. However, she figured that she had no idea of actually how many people were killed at Mordhaus every day. They were accidental deaths, of course; she had heard about the chef who was hacked to bits by a helicopter blade, along with various and sundry other incidents involving the Klokateers. Luckily, Taylor had taken out an insurance policy to ensure that she would be safe while working at Mordhaus, in case something morbidly gruesome would happen to her.

Taylor gathered her purse and equipment bag, put out her cigarette and waited silently for the train to stop. _Here we go, _she thought.


	3. Meeting the Band

No songs for this chapter.

* * *

In the Dethlounge, Nathan, Pickles, and Murderface watched _Hollywood Access_ with a bowl of popcorn and some peanut butter cookie dough popcorn dip, while Toki and Skwisgaar played foosball.

"I think thet's the oone girl Skwisgaar hasn't gotten around to yet," commented Pickles.

"Parisch Hilton?" asked Murderface.

"Noo doucebag, Barbara Walters! You know, from _The View?_"

"How old is sche? Like, schixty?"

"She's got to be at least sixty," said Nathan, taking a swig of _Explosion Barbecue Sauce._

"She's seventy nines!" called Skwisgaar over the clicking of the metal rods on the foosball table. "Don'ts you talk about my personal lifes. Besides, gentlemen don'ts kiss and tells."

"But Skwisgaar, you're nots a gentleman! You're a douchebag!" said Toki.

"The ladies don't know that! And as fars as I'm concerned, neither do yous."

"Buts you justs told us that you'res a douchebag!"

"I am not douchebags, not to the ladies. Barbara didn't thinks I was douchebag!"

"Not after you plowed her anyways," mumbled Nathan, sending Pickles and Murderface into a mixed chorus of chuckles.

"What was that? What did you says?" Skwisgaar turned and looked at them.

"Nothing, we think your next conquest should be Clay Aiken," said Pickles.

"He's a guy!" exclaimed Skwisgaar.

"No, I'm preety sure Clay's a woman," said Pickles.

The door to the Dethlounge creaked open. In walked Ofdensen with a stunning young lady none of them had seen before, along with two Klokateers holding luggage.

"Hey guys. Sorry to interrupt your down time, but I thought you'd want to meet your new stylist," said Ofdensen.

"Of course! We loves meeting new peoples," exclaimed Toki. "Especially when they look like yous!"

Taylor smiled. Toki's personality was as cute as she'd heard it was. The members of Dethklok got up and went to welcome her.

"Guys, this is Taylor Ravens, top alternative stylist on the Eastern Seaboard. Taylor, meet Dethklok: Nathan Explosion, Toki Wartooth, Skwisgaar Skwigelf, William Murderface, and Pickles. "

"Hey."

"Chello, Taylor!"

"How's it goings?"

"What's up?"

Pickles was speechless. He had seen her someplace before, but couldn't put his finger on where. He didn't think he had seen her before in person . . . perhaps a magazine . . . no, maybe TV? Maybe it was in person, though . . . maybe she was one of the lucky survivors at one of Dethklok's shows. He didn't know for sure, but he did know that he would recognize that smile from anywhere, and he did.

"Hey guys," said Taylor, "It's nice to finally meet you all."

"The feeling's mutuals," said Skwisgaar, eyeing her up. If he played his cards right, this could be Tessa all over again, maybe even better. He just hoped that she had a kid; that way, she would be a M.I.L.F., making her twice as hot.

"Yes it's uh . . . nice of you to come here and . . . do our hair and . . . stuff." said Nathan, not knowing what else to say other than that, but wanted to be polite anyways.

"Hey, I consider it an honor. Likewise, it was nice of you guys to hire me! I think I'm really going to enjoy working here."

"I think we're really gchoing to like having you! Wait! I mean, having you _here!_" fumbled Murderface.

"Hee hee! Nice goings, Murderface! She thinks you wants to sleeps with her!" teased Toki.

"Oh schut up! Like you've never made a verbal _faux pas_ before!"

Taylor raised one eyebrow, wondering how Murderface was going to get out of this one.

"No, Toki _never_ fucksch up what he'sch schaying! Toki'sch got the gift of gab!"

"Fellas, chill! I know what he's saying," laughed Taylor.

"Yes! He's saying he wants to take yous to Funky Towns!" said Skwisgaar, which got a laugh out of everyone, even Murderface.

"Well, I think I should unpack . . . perhaps I'll see you all later?"

"Sure! That woulds be really nice!" smiled Toki.

"Alright then, see you soon."

Taylor, Ofdensen, and the Klokateers with Taylor's luggage left the room.

"Sche scheems really schweeet!" said Murderface. "Not juscht figuratively, but perschonality-wise."

"She seems cool." said Nathan. He went to the couch to nurse his barbecue sauce. Murderface and Skwisgaar followed.

"I wonders if she's ever beens on _Split Ends_," said Skwisgaar.

"What'sch that?" asked Murderface.

"It's hairs cutting show on the _Style _network."

"You watsch that?"

"No, I found it while lookings for some porn."

Pickles, still standing by the door, was dumbfounded. He couldn't believe that he didn't say anything. _Just stood there like a friggin tree, _he thought._ I hope she doesn't think I'm a douche bag._

"What's the matter, Pickles?" asked Toki. "You looks like something's bothering yous."

"Naw_, _I'm good," said Pickles, quickly slapping on a smile. Then, changing the subject, "Hey, yeh wanna pley some foosball?"

"Sure! I needs to warn you though, I just beat Skwisgaars ass likes it was a dirty rug!"

"I think he _is_ a derty rug. Covered in oold-lady face powder and jizz."

He followed Pickles to the foosball table and they set up for a game.


	4. Dethbowling

Songs: _Dani California _by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, _Jerk It Out_ by The Caesars, _Because of You_ by Kelly Clarkson

Taylor sat on the bed in her new room in the staff's quarters of Mordhaus. The room was a little dull to her, but she had brought plenty memorabilia from her all-time favorite bands and such to decorate with. She opened up a large wooden chest of hers the Klokateers had brought in, and began to designate spots for her things; the swirly glass ball from her best friend, Vera went on the chest (which she would use as a make-shift coffee table in front of the sofa) along the portable speakers for her iPod, the calendar featuring exquisitely-drawn fantastical dragons would go on the wall above the desk where her laptop would sit. The boudoir screen with Japanese geishas in a garden would go at the foot of her bed, and the espresso maker, heating pitcher and demitasses (the teeny little espresso cups) would go on a rolling side table she had brought, which would go next to the desk. She put her Red Hot Chili Peppers bobble-heads on the shelf on the wall next to her bed, her Def Leppard poster near the door, and her Lenny Kravitz poster above her bedside table. And the dragon bong . . . that would go in her bedside table drawer, along with her half-full wooden stash box. She was almost done – a few more candles, her collection of ashtrays and her rope lights needed to be put up, but she decided to go back to it later after writing in her on-line blog. She took an ashtray over to the desk, fired up a cigarette, booted up her laptop and plugged in the wireless internet card. When the internet was up, signed into her personal website, "" and opened up a new blog entry page.

"_Hey peops, _she began to write, _I know I wrote last time that I would share some material from my last seminar in Miami, but before I get to that, I know you probably want to hear about Dethklok! Mordhaus is wonderfully morbid (as expected!), not to mention freakin' HUGE. I met the members of Dethklok about an hour and a half ago, and they were very friendly and welcoming. Apparently I'm going to see more of this place a little later – the members of Dethklok invited me to hang out with them in a little while. Every metal fan's dream, right? I KNOW! I'm quite excited to get to know these guys, not only as clients, but hopefully as friends. Now, before I start with the seminar material, I want to say-"_

A knock sounded at the door. "It's open!" called Taylor, exhaling a plume of blue smoke.

Toki poked his head in the door. "Heys there Taylor! What are yous up to?"

"Come on in dude, don't be shy." Toki came into the room. "I'm just blogging on my website. How's it going?"

"It's goings fine. We were wondering if you'd likes to come bowlings with us . . .?!"

"Sounds fun! Is there a bowling alley near here?" asked Taylor, pulling back her hair into a ponytail.

"Not reallys, but there's one downstairs!" said Toki, trying to show off a little without being arrogant.

"Really! Very cool. Ah, the perks of fame, right?" Taylor smiled.

"You gots that right, girly woman!"

Taylor grabbed her cigarettes, her purse and put on her jacket. She followed Toki down the hall to the elevator, where they went inside and descended to the bottom floor. They went down a long hallway to the bowling alley, where the rest of the band were picking out bowling balls and tying on black and gray bowling shoes.

"Dude, where's my boowling ball?" asked Pickles. "I always leave it in this spot right here." He pointed to an empty space. Toki, Murderface and Nathan looked at each other.

"It'sch not juscht _your_ bowling ball. They belong to all of usch!" said Murderface.

Pickles turned to him. "I knoow that, but I use the same one every time! It's got the perfect weight, the perfect finger holes for my fingers. Noo one else was using it, I _figured_ it would be okee if I used it _all the time!_"

"Well, you thought wrong, didn't you? Maybe one of usch would like to experiensche this perfect bowling ball! Maybe one of usch would like to-"

"Okee, whatever. Do you guys know where it is or not?"

Toki, Murderface and Nathan were silent. Skwisgaar didn't know what was going on, and acted accordingly, leaving them to go set up a game on the scoreboard.

"You guys have something to say to me?" Pickles asked, folding his arms.

"Pickles, uh . . ." began Nathan, ". . . do you remember last week when we had that party for the people from new vacuum cleaner endorsement?"

"Noo, I was passed out from the party the night before."

"Well . . . we had a bowling ball-launching contest, and I can't remember exactly but, your bowling ball . . . _might_ have been used-"

"Mother douchebags! Pickles slapped his hand to his forehead. "Are you fucking serious? What am I gonna do now? Aw, fuck it. I'll just find another _perfect bowling ball!" _He stormed off to the rack to pick out another one.

"Someones needs a tampons today, huh?" Toki nudged Taylor, and she responded with a giggle.

"I've got a few he can use. Judging by his moodiness, he might need one for later, too." Taylor patted her purse, trying to be lighthearted and make a joke.

"HA HA HA! Oh Taylor! You're so funnies! Hey guys! She just offereds _tampons_ to Pickle, which is funnies because she's a lady and uses thems! Ha ha ha!!"

The rest of the band stared at him – it really wasn't that funny, and Taylor agreed. But it was cute of him to think that, anyways.

"So, where are the shoes?" Taylor asked.

"Over at dat counter. Hey – you wants to be on my team?"

"Sure! I don't see why not."

"Great! Go gets some shoes, we're on the right sides ofs the scoreboard."

Taylor glanced in that direction, noticing that the cranky drummer was also on the right side. He really didn't say much when she was introduced to the band. _Why so quiet?_ she wondered.

She went to the counter where she was given a pair of bowling shoes, size eight, by the attendant behind it. She returned to the benches in front of the scoreboard, taking a seat next to the cranky drummer, and began to tie on her shoes. Despite the tension he exhumed, he seemed alright. She knew his bright red dreads needed some work.

"Sorry about your bowling ball, dude. That sucks," said Taylor, trying to sympathize and at least get a few words out of him.

Pickles hadn't noticed that Taylor had sat down next to him, and was startled. Holy douchebags, there she was! Her scent wafted past his nose – it was something like exotic flowers and the essence of warm puppies. He realized that his heart had begun to beat in his ears, and his palms had begun to sweat; it reminded him of being high, but he couldn't decide on which drug this feeling reminded him of. He was jittery like he had taken cocaine, but euphoric like he just popped some ecstasy. The thing was, however, that he had taken both drugs at the same time and it still didn't feel like he did at that moment sitting next to Taylor. There was something incredibly new and different about his feeling, and he hoped this trip would last. _Pickles, yeh need to talk to the pretty girl now! She's talking to you! _he said to himself. _Jest . . . be yerself, I guess._

"Aww hey, it's nothing. Jest a bowling ball. I was jest mad 'cause it might screw up my game a little bit. I uh . . .didn't know you were coming bowling with us."

"Is that okay?"

"Ooh of coourse! We spend soo much time here with just ourselves, it gets kinda booring after a while, y'know. We reeally enjoy meeting new people. You seem like a nice person, soo this is really a treat fer us. You can hang oot with us anytime."

"Well thank you."

"Ooh, it's our pleasure. By the way, the name's Pickles. I'm the drummer." He held out his hand, and Taylor took it.

"Taylor Ravens. Nice to meet you, Pickles."

"Good to meet you too." Her name was unfamiliar, but seeing her face close up only furthered his motivation to find where he knew her from.

"Scho uh . . . who'sch going firscht?" Murderface asked.

"Well who wents furst lasts time?" asked Skwisgaar.

"I thinks it was me, I can't remembers though," said Toki.

"Wait, how did we do this – was it alphabetical order? Or reverse alphabetical order? Dammit, I can't remember. How long has it been since we last bowled?" asked Nathan.

"Wasch it lascht week? Or the week before?"

"Heey, I got an idea: why not let oour new stylist go ferst?" suggested Pickles, winking at Taylor.

"Yeah! Forgives us, ladies shoulds go furst," said Skwisgaar.

"Okay." Taylor picked out a semi-light bowling ball from the rack and stepped up to the lane. She took careful aim, and fired the bowling ball down the lane . . . knocking down eight pins. The guys cheered.

"Nice throow!"

"Man, she's gots a good arm!"

"Whoo hoos!"

"Thanks! Seven years of softball," Taylor explained.

"Softball?" asked Nathan. "Um . . . never heard of softball."

"It's baseball for girls. I mean, we could probably play baseball as good as guys, but I think they modified it for women. I don't see why, but whatever."

She waited for the ball retriever to fetch her ball, and she took it out of the hole without hesitation. She took an easier throw this time, aiming directly for the two lonely pins at the end of the lane. It started off making a beeline for the pins, but then it wavered, brushing by the pin on the left but not knocking it over. Taylor shrugged.

"Maybe next time," she said. Who's next?"

"I'll go nexscht," said Murderface. He picked up a bowling ball and threw it overhand and forward. It smacked the bottom of the lane and began to roll at a snail's pace toward the pins. Everyone stared as the ball got closer . . . closer . . . and closer to the pins, until it tap just barely touched the first pin.

"Schomeone elsche can go," said Murderface. "I'm through." He went back to the bench and slumped down between Skwisgaar and Nathan.

"Um . . . I guess I'll go." Nathan picked up a spiked bowling ball that looked like it was made of steel. It had a handle on it rather than finger holes, and Taylor was curious as to how it was going to roll.

"Hey uh . . . it's Nathan, right?"

"Yeah . . .?" he responded.

"Right, Nathan . . . how is that thing going to roll with all the spikes on it? Those things have to be at least three inches long."

"I had this thing custom-made about a month ago. It's cast-iron, and the spikes are about 4 inches long, actually. Aside from a few of our songs, it's probably one of the most 'metal' things I've ever created. It's like my child. Seriously," Nathan explained.

"You don't mess around, do you?" Taylor raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, and uh . . . it doesn't really roll." Nathan gripped the handlebar in a tight fist.

"Then . . . how does it get from your hand to the pins?"

Pickles looked at Taylor and smirked – she'd get a kick out of this.

"Like this." Nathan hefted the spike-ball, took a few quick steps forward and hurled the beast of a bowling ball down the alley with a "HUAH!" Instead of actually going down the alley, the spike-ball crashed into the ceiling and stuck there for a few moments, clumps of drywall falling to the floor. The group was silent as the spike-ball plummeted down into the lane, smashing into the waxed wood and sending splinters in all directions.

"Wow," said Nathan. "That was _metal."_

The game continued on for another half an hour. It would have been longer, but Nathan's spike ball had ruined most of the lanes, and the group deemed it useless to continue playing when the craters in the lanes kept throwing their bowling balls off course.

"I think that was the most . . . _interesting_ game of bowling I've ever played," said Taylor, as she handed her shoes to the attendant behind the counter.

"You should see what heppens when we pley midnight boowling," said Pickles, sliding up next to Taylor and handing his shoes to the same attendant. "Thanks man."

"Really . . . what happens at night?"

"Oh it's the same game, but there's no lights. Just . . . it's pitch black, basically. I can't tell you how many times I've gotten my ass pinched gooing boowling in the dark."

"Really! Who do you think's the mysterious ass bandit?"

Pickles just looked at her and sniggered – "ass bandit" was dangerously close to "butt pirate".

"Shit! I mean ass-_pinching_ bandit! Ass bandit . . . sorry, I wasn't insinuating that you guys were butt buddies," Taylor apologized.

Pickles chuckled. "Eh, don't worry about it. Besides, even if we were gay, look at my options." He gestured to the rest of the band: Nathan was bending over to gently put his spike-ball in a leather case, displaying some wicked plumber's crack; Toki was erasing the scoreboard, humming Abba's "Dancing Queen" to himself; Skwisgaar just stood there scratching his junk; Murderface was trying to hide the fact that he was picking his nose. "Yeesh."

"What a sexy bunch," joked Taylor. "I bet it's hard to keep your hands off of those studs."

"Oh yeah, tootally. If it wasn't fer my chastity belt, I think you could call my ass a black hole."

"Ha ha! Nice one."

"Aw, you bet!"

"Hey Pickle, we're all going to gets ice creams at zah Dairy Queens. Are you twos coming, or whats?" asked Skwisgaar.

"You want some ice cream?" Pickles asked Taylor.

"Sounds fun . . . you guys wouldn't mind?"

"We're asking you, aren't we?"

"Then sure! Love to," Taylor responded.

She followed Dethklok to their elaborate bus, which took them to the nearest Dairy Queen. "I haven't been to a Dairy Queen in ages," she told the band as they exited the bus.

"We usually don'ts go, onlys 'cause Murderface keeps asking for flesh-flavoreds ice creams," explained Skwisgaar.

"For the channibal in all of usch!" Murderface chimed in. "Scheriouschly, how can an icshe cream placshe have juscht one flavor of ische cream? And besidesch that, it's the gayescht flavor of all: vanilla."

"I likes vanilla," said Toki. "It goes good with everythings!"

"Then that makesch you the gayescht member of thisch band, vanilla boy." Murderface said calmly.

"Oh shuts up! Vanilla is goods! Don'ts tells me that you don't like _vanilla sex!"_

"Fuck no! I would rather be caschtrated than be rammed in the –"

"Seriouslies? Are you seriouslies tellings me this right now?"

"What?"

"You mean to tells me that you don'ts knows what vanilla sex is?!"

"Ischn't that when two guysch-"

"No, douchebags! It's not! It's the most basic sex evers! No dirties, no kinkies, no nothings! Plain olds missionary vanilla sex! Got it?" yelled Toki.

Murderface just looked at him silently before uttering, "Dildo."

At that moment, Taylor heard her phone ring. She recognized the ringtone; "Because of You" by Kelly Clarkson. She gave that particular number _that _song for a reason, and decided not to answer it. Answering to that call would most likely ruin her whole evening, and these guys seemed so nice and friendly that she didn't want anything to fuck that up – especially this phone call. She took her cell phone out of her purse and put it on silent – she wanted to have at least a little fun tonight.

"You're not going to get that?" Pickles asked her.

"No . . . its fine. It was no one important."


	5. Hairdos

Songs: _Keeps Getting Better _by Christina Aguilera, _Bounce With Me_ by Kreesha Turner

* * *

It seemed to Taylor that no matter what you have at Dairy Queen, you always leave there feeling happy. On this night, she left there feeling doubly happy due to the fact that she was with a bunch of fun guys, who just happened to be in a death metal band. The next morning came sooner than she expected, and remedied that with her favorite blend of espresso, half-and-half and a little sugar, paired with a cigarette. She threw on a black V-neck t-shirt and black skinny pants before grabbing her equipment bag and heading to the meeting room – she had agreed with the band the night before that they would discuss exactly what they were looking for as far as their hair went.

She entered the meeting room, discovering that the band, as well as Ofdensen, were already there waiting for her.

"Good morning everyone!" she said cheerfully.

"Good mornings, Taylor! Did you sleeps okay?" Toki asked her.

"Yes I did, Toki. Thanks for asking."

"Well we wants to make sure that you likes it here! Hey, can we gets you some coffees? It's Duncan Hills coffees, really good stuffs!" said Skwisgaar.

Ofdensen was confused – the guys, in general, usually weren't this warm or cordial towards women. They could be at times, but not often. Apparently, Miss Ravens had some kind of effect on the boys, and Ofdensen was curious as to how long it would last.

"No, I already had my morning espresso shot. Thank you, though!"

"Guys, you remember Taylor from the meeting yesterday -" Ofdensen began.

"Of coursche we do! We took her bowling lascht night," explained Murderface.

Ofdensen never saw this coming. Dethklok taking someone who worked for them, much less their stylist, was something simply unheard of. He knew they never took Tessa bowling.

"Yeah, the guys were very welcoming. Took me bowling, and then to Dairy Queen afterwards. You have a great group of clients here, Mr. Ofdensen," Taylor told him.

_DAIRY QUEEN?!_ thought Ofdensen. _Fucking DAIRY QUEEN?! Something's going on._ Ofdensen decided that he would figure it out later – he wanted to let Miss Ravens have the floor and begin to ask the boys about their hair and personal style.

"Thank you Taylor. Well, I'll let you have the floor here. Good luck," said Ofdensen. He left the room, still trying to figure out why they treated this stylist like their buddy instead of, well, their stylist.

"Alright fellas," Taylor said as she sat down at the head of the table. "Let's get started, shall we?"

The band turned their attention to Taylor, and she began her little speech. "Alright guys, look: I don't know how much you guys know about your hair, much less hair in general. It's my profession, so I'm going to try to help you help me, as far as your hair goes. I'm going to go around the table and ask each of you how your hair is usually done. If you don't know, don't worry about it – I'll figure it out. Let's start with . . ."

"Can I goes?!" asked Toki.

"Sure, dude. What did the old stylist do to your hair?"

"Well, Tessa useds this flat thing that hads lots of teeths in it. It would go through my hair and gets alls the tangles out."

"She used dats on my hairs, too!" said Skwisgaar.

"She probably used it on mine, too, come to think of it," added Nathan.

"So basically, she used a comb?"

"Is that what it's called? God, I never knew that," said Nathan.

_Wow, _thought Taylor. _These guys need some serious education in hair care._

"Is that all you guys know?" she asked, astonished.

"Kinda, yeah. I mean, our oold stylist never really told us what she was doing to our heads, so we really doon't know too much aboot it, sorry," said Pickles.

"It's okay, don't apologize. I wouldn't have expected you guys to be experts. I'll tell you what – I'll style your hair how it looks like it's styled, and if you guys don't like it, I'll make whatever changes I need to in order to get your hair to your liking. How does that sound?"

"Sounds good, I guess. I mean, you're the expert," said Nathan.

"Ya. I means, we don'ts know shits about hair at alls, excepts how we likes it to look, so . . . whatever you can dos, I guess," agreed Skwisgaar.

"I have a queschtion," said Murderface. "Can you posschibly get my hair not to be so frizzschy? I mean, it just kind of schits on my head like a dead cat, one of thosche really furry ones, that for some reaschon deschided to schtick it'sch tongue in an electrical schocket. Our last schtylist couldn't really get that – what was it called?"

"What was what called?"

"That thing. We were juscht talking about it."

"A comb?"

"Yesch! Sche couldn't get that through my hair. I'm just schaying that it would be nische not to have my hair look like a rat'sch nescht for onsche, y'know?"

Taylor smiled – she could fix this, and already had a plan in mind. "Don't worry your fuzzy little head about anything. I got you."

Pickles was impressed – Taylor seemed so sure of herself, without seeming arrogant or condescending. He was curious to see what she would do to his dreads, as they did look vaguely raggedy to him. He also wondered her hands would feel on his head, if she would be rough or gentle . . . _better not go down that road, _he thought.

"Well, since we have all these issues discussed and I have all the information for you I need, shall we head to the salon? There is a salon in here, right? Someplace?" Taylor asked.

"I think it's on the second floor, near the kitchen," said Pickles.

"How do you know where the salon is? Are you some kind of fairy-man?"

"_No!_" insisted Pickles. "I just remember where it is, thet's all. I'm trying to help the lovely lady oot, do yeh mind?!"

Songs: _Keeps Getting Better,_ Christina Aguilera; _Bounce With Me,_ Kreesha Turner

With that, they headed to the salon. Taylor noticed that the salon was rather untidy – there was a thin film of dust on the dryer chairs, and the sinks had some kind of deposit around the drains. The mirrors looked as if they'd never met Windex, and underneath the moveable carts lurked the bigger, nastier, clumpier cousin of the dust-bunny: the shit-bunny. _Jeez, _thought Taylor, _would it have killed the last stylist to use a friggin' broom now and then?_

"I'm sorry guys, but this place is kinda gross, and quite frankly, not up to my standard of cleanliness. Do you mind if I clean this place up a little before we get started?"

"Ah, but Taylors! You don'ts haves to do that. We can gets some Klokateers to dos it for you," said Toki. "Nathan, do you haves the bell?"

"I think it's in my pocket." Nathan then produced a tiny silver bell with a little handle, which he jingled gently. Two dark, hooded figures entered the room almost instantly.

"How can we serve you, my lords?" one of them asked.

"Clean this place up to um . . . _her_ liking," Nathan gestured towards Taylor.

"Right away, my lord," the other Klokateer replied. The two of them left, and momentarily returned with cleaning products, paper towels, brooms and such. Taylor watched in awe as the Klokateers went to work, their hooded faces emotionless as they scrubbed, wiped, and swept the whole room clean in a matter of minutes.

"Does this please you, my lady?" one of the Klokateers asked Taylor.

"Yes, very much! Thank you, I appreciate it. I have a question, though – would you happen to have any barbicide? I need to it clean my tools."

"Of course, my lady." The Klokateer went to a closet on the far side of the room, took out a jug of barbicide and poured the clear, blue liquid into the designated canister.

"Oh, and my products – I ordered some products and supplies yesterday, have they come yet?"

"I believe so, my lady. I'll fetch them for you." The Klokateers left the room, and returned momentarily with several boxes. Without being asked, they quickly unloaded the boxed and set them on the shelves. While they were doing that, Taylor set up her tools at a station in front of the mirror.

"Thanks guys, you rock. I think that's all I need . . . I can take it from here."

"Very well my lady, my lords," the Klokateers said, and left swiftly.

"Well this is all fine and dandy," Taylor said, addressing the band. "Well, I suggest we get started. I obviously can't do you all at once . . ."

"I wish she woulds!" Skwisgaar whispered to Toki with a nudge.

"I know!" Murderface cut in. "What a fine piesche of assch."

"Shh," said Pickles, " douchebags."

"Yeah, don't talks about her like dat," said Toki.

" . . . but in order to get each of you done fairly quickly. . ."

Snickers from Skwisgaar and Murderface commenced.

"Shut your fucking mouths," grumbled Pickles, "I will strangle both of you. Simultaneously."

"You schut up! You're not the bossch of me!"

"What ams you? A eunuchs?"

"Guys, I mean it. Shut it. She's talking," Pickles said through his teeth.

" . . . I'll do some of you at the same time. There's a couch over there for those of you who I'll eventually get to. I brought some metal magazines for you guys to read and a deck of cards, and eventually I'm going to get a coffee machine for down here. Or maybe a vending machine. I'll see what I can afford," Taylor chuckled. "Okay, um . . . let me see . . . I think I'm going to start with the two of you who have the most complicated hair to work on . . . Murderface? Pickles?"

Pickles glared at Murderface, but he grinned when he turned to Taylor. "Sure. Jest tell me what to do."

"What do I have to do?" asked Murderface.

"Nothing yet. Take a seat over in a swivel chair and I'll be right with you."

"Ochay."

"Meanwhile, Pickles, you come with me over to the sink." He followed her to the sink where she caped him, and proceeded to wash his hair, lathering up his dreads with shampoo and rubbing his scalp vigorously. Taylor remembered what she had learned at the little salon on Elmwood Ave: when you're washing a client's hair, you're not washing their hair, you're washing their scalp. _That's where the hair originates,_ she thought. As the scalp gets washed, the hair gets washed right along with it, and any mashing or smushing of the hair together in the washing process will only cause knots and tangles. Furthermore, washing the hair and scalp usually includes a nice scalp massage, for only to relax the client and help them enjoy the experience of getting their hair done professionally.

After shampooing Pickles, Taylor led him to a chair where she manually separated his dreads and began to dry them with an ionic hairdryer. After his hair was thoroughly dried, she whipped out some high-quality locking wax, and started to tease and twist the base of the dreads to turn the hair that had grown out texture. After about half an hour of twisting and waxing, she dried his dreads again with the hairdryer to lock in the dreads and prevent them from frizzing.

"Guess what?" Taylor asked Pickles.

"What?"

"You're done."

"Really? Wow, thet was fast. Thank you."

"It was my pleasure."

Taylor then went to the swivel chair where Murderface sat. "Ok dude, I need to ask you some questions about your hair before I do anything to it. First, have you colored or treated your hair with anything recently?"

"I treated it to a schower the other day . . . doesch that count?"

" . . . No, not really, that's fine." _You smelly hobo, _she thought. "Secondly, you wanted your hair smoother and more manageable, yes?"

"You can do that?!"

"Yes, with a relaxer."

"Schit, lady! Schign me up! I juscht need a glassch of water."

"Oh, I'm sorry! Are you thirsty?"

"Well, I would take the relaxscher with what'sch in my flaschk, but I really don't feel like schpilling my gutsch later, if you know what I mean. What kind of relaxscher do you have exschactly? Weed, Valium, Zoloft, Xanaxsch, Hydrosch, Oxysch, what?"

Taylor laughed. "Murderface, I'm not going to give you drugs. I'm going to put some stuff on your hair that will make it straight. It will, quote on quote, 'relax' your hair's texture. Okay?"

"Scho . . . you're giving my hair drugsch?"

_Wow,_ thought Taylor. "Well, it _is_ a chemical . . . I guess you could say that. Sure, I'm giving your hair drugs."

"Metal! Let'sch do it!"

"Fab – while I go mix the relaxer, would you brush your hair for me?"

"Schure, I'll try . . . I think there'sch a mat back here schomeplasche . . ."

_Yeesh, _thought Taylor. She went to the cupboards that the Klokateers organized so nicely and chose a relaxer for resistant hair, knowing that she was going to need all the chemical help she could get. After separating Murderface's hair into four sections, she took the back of a tail comb and began to spread the relaxer product on thin subsections of hair, leaving out the roots and ends, knowing that those two areas would process much faster than the shaft of the hair.

"You need to sit for thirty minutes before I apply the rest," Taylor explained. "I'm going to do someone else's hair in the meantime, okay?"

"Schounds fine, I'll just play a game on my phone," said Murderface.

"Fab." Taylor turned to the rest of the guys. "Who's next?"

No response – they were all buried in the metal magazines.

" . . . Guys?"

Toki slowly raised his head as if he were trying to pull his face away from the magazine, and looked at Taylor. "What's that Taylors?"

"Toki . . . are you ready to be fabulous?"

"Oh yes! I always wanteds to be fabulous," he said as he put the magazine down and followed Taylor to the sinks where she shampooed and conditioned Toki's hair. She then led him to a chair where took half an inch off the bottom of his hair to freshen the ends and applied a smoothing serum. After blow-drying and flat-ironing Toki's hair, she whirled him around in the chair so he could take a look at the back.

"Weee!" he giggled. "Oh Taylors, doos it again!"

A little perplexed but also amused, Taylor spun him around again, inciting a laugh from the ever-happy Toki.

"Aha, that was fun! You really knows hows to make ol' Toki smile. And looks at my hair! It's so shiny and smooth!"

"Just like healthy hair should be," said Taylor.

"Oh thank yous, Taylor. You're the best," he said as Taylor took off his cape.

"Thank _you,_ Toki."

Taylor checked her watch and found that it was time to apply the rest of Murderface's relaxer. She went back to him and applied it to the roots and the ends, and explained to him that it would be about fifteen minutes before it was done processing, which Murderface was cool with and went to talk to an unwilling Nathan about his _Planet Piss_ project.

Taylor decided that she was due for a cigarette, so she quietly excused herself from the guys and found a vent at the end of the hallway. She was about to light up when she heard a voice ask:

"Got another one of those?"

She turned to see Pickles the Drummer standing there. She smiled and handed him one. "Here you go, cowboy."

"Thenk you." He pulled out his own lighter and lit up, and Taylor did the same. "I jest ran out of cigarettes, and I kinda knew where you were going."

Taylor laughed. "Am I that obvious?"

"No, I jest took a wild guess, really. I guess I jest heppend to be right."

Taylor smiled. "Hey, are you happy with your hair?"

"Oh absolutely! These are how dreads are supposed to look. They feel like they did when I first got them done years ago."

"Well I'm glad you're pleased, Pickles. I love making people look and feel good," she said with a chuckle.


End file.
